


The Domino Effect

by prometheanTactician



Series: Stabdads Shorts and Not So Shorts [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aradia is Creepy, Gen, Humanstuck, Stabdads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:45:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1848337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prometheanTactician/pseuds/prometheanTactician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Midnight Crew tends to be oddly balanced in some ways. For example, two of them love kids, two of them hate kids. It's a shame the universe didn't take that into account.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exceptions

The thing about the Midnight Crew, was that they were pretty well balanced. When they held opinions, it tended towards two of them holding one opinion, and the other two holding the other. This made any time they had to vote on something difficult. It held true with many things, one of those things being kids. Two of them hated kids, two of them loved kids.

But the way they acted was different.

Droog simply ignored any kid he passed, maybe with a slight expression of disgust or irritation. Slick tended to hiss at kids and make faces to make them cry. On the rare occasion anyone allowed their kid to stray too close to Boxcars, he would find himself thoughtlessly keeping an eye on them. Just to make sure they didn't get into anything dangerous. Deuce, though. Deuce adored kids. So when some girl called, said he'd knocked her up, he'd believed her without question and agreed to take the kid in himself, as she didn't want it.

No one was really sure if he honestly believed the kid was his, or just agreed to take it in anyway.

The thing was a fucking terror. It threw tantrums day and night, screaming constantly, crying, nothing could calm it down. It required such attention that they had to plan around Deuce not showing up to heists, so whenever they needed explosives, they were pretty much screwed. But he wouldn't call a babysitter. They convinced him to, once, and the poor teen had had a break down. That baby was horrifying, and Deuce loved the thing to bits.

Droog would not step foot into Deuce's household since the things arrival. Slick went in once, heard the crying, walked right back out. Boxcars helped a bit, and actually managed to make the thing stop once, but that was the most progress anyone made. The only time it stopped was when it was asleep, or eating, and even then it made upset noises.

Somehow, Deuce never lost his patience, but by time Sollux grew to be a toddler (still screaming his fucking head off), three of the four of them now hated kids.

 

This, however, did not stop a haggard looking woman from showing up on Boxcars doorstep months later, carrying a young boy around Sollux's age, so about one years old. Unlike Sollux, the kid was quiet, glancing at him shyly before burying his face in the woman's shoulder.

He actually remembered her, believe it or not, and the time when he'd known her fit the estimated age of the kid. She explained that the kid was his, claimed she didn't want money (which made him more inclined to believe her), but that she was sick. She said she was being hospitalized soon, but she was terminal. She wouldn't go into detail about the illness. It wasn't needed. But she said the kid would be put in the foster system, but she thought to check if he'd want custody first.

He looked to the kid to see if it understood what she was saying. He found the boy staring at him with big brown eyes, wide, scared, kind of sad, and realized the kid knew exactly what was going on.

Well shit, he couldn't just leave him.

He agreed, and when legalities were tended to, two out of four of the Crew had kids.

The other two were not pleased.

Tavros was a lot calmer than Sollux. He never screamed, never yelled, never got angry or threw tantrums. But he did cry. A lot. No shrieking or anything, just sometimes Boxcars would look over and the kid would be sobbing into the little plush bull fairy thing he always carried around. He told the kid to toughen up, but the little guy just apologized shakily and it was honestly the saddest thing ever. When asked what he was crying about, he had the weirdest responses.

He'd say he thought about how cows never hurt anyone, but people ate them anyway, and it made him sad.

He'd say he thought about people not having homes and it made him sad.

It was always about some cruel, unfortunate fact of life that made him sad. The kid was a goddamn bleeding heart and now a mobster had to take care of him. That was sure to end well. But the little guy was just this cuddly, polite, sweet little thing. After having to deal with Sollux, even his quiet crying was a reprieve.

 

However, even Tavros' sweet disposition did not soften the other two's stance on children. Droog held fast to the opinion that they were disgusting, vile creatures. Slick agreed whole heartedly, and added that they were annoying as fuck.

Then some asshole in a suit showed up at Droog's door.

An old flame of his, an Asian hitwoman known as The Handmaid, had been killed in a suspicious accident recently. Her kid was left, and he was listed as the father. He insisted on an honest to god DNA test immediately, not taking any of it at face value.

But the kid was his. He considered simply saying no, fuck off, give it away to who the fuck ever just keep it away from him, but the kid was his. It was born out of his mistake. He owed it to the thing to at least meet it.

Aradia was not what he expected.

He expected some snot-nosed snivelling brat, crying about its mommy and getting its snot everywhere or something equally as disgusting. Instead, he got this little girl in a nice skirt, outfit clean and lovely in contrast to a ridiculous nest of hair. She smiled widely, almost creepily, but it was her eyes that got him. She looked for all the world like her mother, but there was something in those eyes that were just like his. They were not cold steel grey like her fathers, holding the warm burgundy of her mothers, but they held that piercing quality. Like they could hold you in place and dissect you right there. He stopped in front of her, crouching to her height. He asked her name, she gave it politely and asked for his. She was pleasant. Polite. Not loud, not hyperactive, not absolutely off her head. And, well, she was his.

She said she was four years old, a year younger than the boys had been at the time. She said they told her he was her dad, and asked if it was alright to call him that. He thought for a long moment of silence. She waited. Patiently. With that creepy smile and those eyes that looked right on through you.

As he signed the custody papers, he didn't even grit his teeth.

 

Slick was not pleased. Each of his fucking Crew members were stuck with kids now, and it was driving him nuts. Sollux was still screaming about everything and anything, even at 6, Tavros cried if you stepped on a fucking ant, and Aradia just sat there. Staring. With that creepy fucking smile, until whoever she was looking at had to look away. It was a game she played, where she saw how long they could hold out before they had to look away. She said her daddy was the only one who didn't.

Her daddy.

Fucking Droog was a father, and Slick wanted to stab something.

At the very least he wasn't a bragging father. The only reason Slick knew about Aradia being skipped ahead to grade one was because Deuce raving about it. They wanted to move her further, he said, but were afraid it'd be too much. Droog confessed later that it was mostly because she scared the other students, and she seemed to be the only one who could calm Sollux from his tantrums, so they stuck her in his class.

Slick hated everything, but he especially hated kids.

He was just glad he didn't have one.

In fact, he was reflecting on that when his doorbell rang.


	2. In Which The Universe Hates Spades Slick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slick just can't catch a break.

“What the fuck.” Was the initial reaction when Jack Noir, now more commonly known as Spades Slick, leader of the deadly Midnight Crew, opened his door to find a member of the fucking Lollipop Guild on his doorstep. The kid was a scrawny, tiny little thing (kinda like Spades himself most certainly was not and shut up), absolutely filthy, with a fucking birds nest of hair that might've been white without the dirt, and big red eyes looking up at him. All he had with him was a backpack, and as he stared Spades realized that some of the smudges weren't dirt.

They were bruises.

He tried to slam the door on him. He really did.

“Are you Jack?” The kid asked, adjusting the backpack. “Uh... Noir, I think?” He sounded hopeful. Goddammit.

“To some.” He replied curtly, through gritted teeth. God fucking dammit, he should've known he was next. “Who the fuck are you.” Not a question. A demand, barely forced out.

“Karkat.” The kid seemed anxious, uneasy, cautious of the stranger he was speaking to but bold nonetheless. “Karkat Vantas. You're-”

“Lemme guess, your father.” He interrupted, and Karkat opened and closed his mouth for a second before nodding quickly. “You got proof, kid?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, challenging, and utterly unamused.

“Not- not really. You can do a DNA test? Look, I don't want money or anything, I-” Slick interrupted again.

“Look, I don't fuckin' care, alright? Where the hell is your mother?” He leaned out of the door frame to try and catch sight of whatever crazy broad was using this kid to extort money out of him.

“I ran away.” Shit. “Look, can I come in? I'll explain everything but it's really cold-”

“Then explain quick.” He snapped, scowling. His patience was running thin, but he didn't know if that meant he was going to slam the door on the kid or pull him inside and get him a fucking blanket. Karkat scowled right back at him, and holy shit they really were related.

“Fine, asshole.” Ho boy. “Things at home sucked, I got sick of it, I dug through my moms stuff til I found mention of a father, looked you up, came to find you. Y'know everything about you out there is about you killing people?” With a groan of annoyance, Slick finally pulled the brat inside and shut the door.

“You know how to work a shower, kid?” Karkat nodded, his temper calmed by the shock of being yanked inside, and the warmth of the small, cluttered house. “Then go take one. Careful not to get cut by any knives lyin' around. We're talkin' 'bout this more when you're done.” But fuck did he not want to. He really didn't want to. He did not want a kid. Especially not a scrawny, obviously malnourished kid covered in dirt and bruises that were most definitely from his mother. The kid was already showing that he snapped from defensive and pissy to scared and unsure in seconds. This was a kid that needed love and guidance and care. Like hell he was getting that there.

But at least there he wouldn't get hit, and he'd be fed. Slick heard the shower turn on and dropped down onto his couch, away from the knives, and buried his face in his hands.

He'd ask what he'd done to deserve this, but that list was a mile long, and the better question was:

What had the kid done to deserve this?


End file.
